


Worth The Wait

by EffingEden



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-27
Updated: 2010-11-27
Packaged: 2017-10-13 10:10:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/136096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EffingEden/pseuds/EffingEden
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU - Someone has come to adopt Tom</p>
            </blockquote>





	Worth The Wait

It didn’t seem real to Tom, at first. He was never the only one to be told to quickly dress in his Sunday best.

He had heard it be told to many others – the pretty ones, the quiet and the obedient ones, they were the children that were picked out. He had been picked once before, told to stand with three other boys of the same age and let a grim-faced couple look him over like some animal or trinket. The woman had a nervous yet subdued air about her, and the man didn’t watch his strength as he grasped Tom’s chin to check his teeth. Tom had done his best to think himself uglier. He had not been the one they had left with.

This time, it was only him.

As he lingered over his shirt buttons, he tried to think of who it might be. It was winter, there were fewer visitors at this time of year. He had seen the orphanage’s patron at Mass two days ago, and heard his deep laugh only last night. He sometimes took a child with him, when he had a party at his house, to show Society he was a charitable, good-natured man. That would mean new clothes, and – if he behaved in a becoming way – a rich family might be interested in taking him in.

The thought didn’t lift his spirits, as it would another child. He had seen some of those lucky children come back, after a month. They were different then when they had left. Quieter.

He finished his buttons and pulled on a waistcoat that was too tight across his back, then a blazer that left his wrists and shirt cuffs showing, then thought very hard about being ugly, ugly, ugly.

He made his way to Mr Gimshaw’s office, pausing as he heard voices inside. He held his breath to listen.

“…isn’t that there is anything wrong with the lad,” he heard Mr Grimshaw say, in an oddly strained way. “Only that we do have boys who have a disposition more suited.”

There was a brief silence. “Then they will find homes with ease, surely.”

The voice was not that of the Lord patron. A man’s, he sounded distracted yet crisp. As if he was on the brink of being made impatient.

“You say you have not adopted previously – have you had any experience at all taking care of children?” The was an odd mix of apologetic and cautious tones in Mr Grimshaw’s voice, as if he was goaded to speak against his better judgement by his conscience. Who he was trying to protect was unclear, though it made Tom bristle.

The stranger took it with good grace; Tom could hear laughter in his voice. “Beyond being one some time ago, no. However, I shall strive to rise to the occasion. I doubt I can make the situation any worse than it is.” The laughter left the man’s voice with such swiftness Tom felt a chill go down his back. What situation was he talking about?

Mr Grimshaw sounded confused, too. “Ah, quite. He isn’t ill-mannered, but he is a handful at times… and there have been… ah… incidents.”

“I am aware. I would not think to do this if I didn’t think I was up to the challenge.”

There was a longer pause. In a voice so quiet Tom could barely hear through the door, Mr Grimshaw said, “If you take him, know that he will not be welcome back here if you decide the task is too great.”

Tom felt sick, though he wasn’t surprised at hearing it.

The stranger had no reply.

Tom swallowed and made his face go blank, not wanting to show the tangle of emotion he was feeling, then rapped on the door.

“Come,” called out Mr Grimshaw.

Tom twisted the handle and stepped inside the richly furnished room. It was the best set of rooms in the building, though quite dusty as the large carpet was never beaten clean. The desk was clear of newspapers for the first time Tom had seen it. Mr Grimshaw looked quite nervous and faintly annoyed, tense in his chair. The most he could see of the stranger was his legs, stretched in front of the chair and crossed at the ankles. The man was wearing shiny black shoes, spats and plum coloured trousers.

“Mr Pottage, this is Tom Riddle. Mr Pottage has decided to adopt you, Riddle.”

Mr Pottage stood and turned to fully face him. Tom eyed him, the purple suit quite clearly a decade out of fashion at least and of such an odd shade of purple it should have been ugly. It didn’t, only accenting the man’s quite untidy black hair and making the brown of his eyes almost auburn. His face was quite thin, though his body was defiantly muscled. There were lines at the corners of his eyes and mouth – he had to be mid-forties at least. The emotion on his face was quite carefully blank; as carefully blank as Tom’s own, if not more so.

He bowed slightly and said, “Hello, Mr Tom.”

Tom resisted the urge to bow back, not thinking he could do it right. “Hello, sir,” he replied.

The man, Mr Pottage, smiled in a distracted way. “How old are you?”

“Ten, sir.”

Mr Pottage made a soft sound in his throat and nodded once. “Would you like to come an live with me, Mr Tom?”

“I…” He didn’t know what to say.

Mr Grimshaw stared in shock at the back of the man’s head. The man waited for an answer, his eyebrows lifting slightly. There was something about him that called to Tom. Something inside him tightened at the thought of being able to leave the orphanage and stay with this person, peculiar as he was.

“I would like that, sir,” Tom replied.

Mr Pottage nodded. He turned to look Mr Grimshaw and said, “I can take him today, yeah?”

The odd word gave the curator pause, though he dismissed it after a moment. “Indeed. This very hour, if you wish, as long as you have the paperwork. Tom, go and pack. Mr Pottage?”

The strangely dressed man stooped to pick up a briefcase, not looking back at Tom as the boy left the room.

It had been so fast. The man, Mr Pottage, already had the paperwork, so he had planned it for some time. A month ago at least, and Tom hadn’t known. He wasn’t sure what to think. He was leaving, but to live with someone he had met for barely ten five minutes.

He didn’t seem cruel, Tom mused as he tried not to race to his room. He had almost laughed once, too. There had to be something – but he didn’t even seem absently dangerous, like the patron did. Oh, there was something, but it was more contained. More controlled. Calm, too, and relaxed in a distant sort of way.

He was leaving.

He tried not to get too excited, in case he would wake up – which he fully expected to as he shoved clothes into his school bag, yet he didn’t.

He didn’t have much. It made him feel ill, seeing all he had could fit one small case. He looked around the ugly room, picked up his suitcase and went down to where his freedom, his future, waited.


End file.
